Reunion
by Rose G
Summary: A missing scence from the Two Towers, where Aragorn grieves for Gandalf. Edited, and the timeline has been altered, so it makes sense. Please r/r, even if you have already done so.
1. The parting

Reunion Chapter 1  
By Rose G  
  
Disclaimer - All these characters belong to His Majesty, Tolkien. I am not making any money from this, which seems very unfair.   
  
A/N- This takes place shortly after the breaking of the Fellowship, starting the night before they see Saraman in the woods. It's just my ideas about how Aragorn might have felt after losing his oldest friend in Moria - something that seems to get glossed over in the book. PG-13 for lots of angst, and a suicidal Ranger.  
  
  
  
Aragorn slipped down from Hasufel's back, pressing the dark grey head hard against his own. For a few precious seconds, the warmth and un-judgemental friendliness of the horse comforted him, hiding the inescapable darkness from his view, and ensuring the Elf and Dwarf did not see the grief etched on his face.   
  
'Aragorn?' Legolas spoke softly, still mounted on Arod with Gimli behind him. 'Are we making camp here?'  
  
The Ranger bit back an unpleasant reply, although his answer was still shorter than he intended. 'Leave me alone, Legolas.' His voice was rough, telling of his grief, and the Elven prince respected his view, dismounting and beginning to build a fire.  
  
Hours later, Aragorn lay in the firelight, watching Legolas and Gimli sleeping peacefully, despite the fear that had touched them when the white shape had moved through the trees and the horses had bolted. He was weary, weary, as he had never been before, yet sleep eluded him. The white figure had not filled him with fear, only a blatant recklessness and a disregard for his own safety, for his life no longer seemed worth fighting for.  
  
Loneliness assailed him, both the physical loneliness of having only two sleeping companions in an empty, desolate part of Middle Earth and the terrifying mental loneliness of a leader with no one to turn to. He lay on his back, watching the dark sky above that matched his mood, with ragged black streamers of cloud racing across the moon, listening to the wind howling through Fangorn forest. Gandalf's voice sounded in his mind, again and again, messages, friendly jests, important counsel and most importantly to the Ranger, words of friendship and trust that he had heard so rarely from others. Forgetting for a moment, he looked wildly around for his friend. Tears rose in his dark, unfathomable eyes and he brushed them away, angry with himself. Arathorn's son, Elendil's heir to Gondor would not weep for a fallen comrade.  
  
Yet his grief was too deep, too personal, for him to follow his counsel. Only three weeks had passed since Gandalf fell, and in Lorien, his memories had seemed blurred, indistinct, so that grief had not touched him. Now, in the shadows of the wild night it was overwhelming. On silent feet he rose, stumbling on the ground rutted with Orc prints and moved out of the firelight so Legolas and Gimli would not see him.  
  
And there he lay like a dead thing, dark hair blowing across his pale face, bearing his grief silently, with a pathetic dignity. He wept silently, without words, as he had not done for many long years. Never had he realised how much he depended on the Wizard, his dearest friend save Halbarad. It was thus that Legolas saw him the next dawn, tossing restlessly in troubled sleep with tears drying on his rugged face.   
  
The chase after the Orcs that day was long and hard, despite the fact that the track was easily found by Aragorn and plain enough for even Gimli to see. Aragorn run in front of the others, stumbling often, slowing until Legolas caught up with him and a fear of allowing the other to see his grief drove him on.   
  
It was later that day they found the hobbit tracks, the Mallorn leaves and crumbs of the Eleven waybread, yet even those visible tokens of their friends survival failed to lighten Aragorn's heart. Sunk deep in bewidered misery, he did not protest when Legolas, observing the Ranger's exhaustion, called a halt by some towering cliffs.  
  
They kept no watch for it was still light, and Aragorn sat with his head bowed to his knees, unable to rest. Almost unconsciously it seemed to the others, he grasped Anduril firmly in his right hand, running his fingers over the side of its blade. A wild, almost panicky look was in his eyes.  
  
'Legolas, do you think Aragorn's all right?' Gimli spoke in an undertone.  
  
The Elf shrugged. 'I believe he misses Gandalf, as we do, yet he cannot bear to speak of his grief or allow others to see it. He has spent too long wandering the wilds on his own to easily talk to others. And yet I do not trust him to be sensible at this time, while he cries bitterly, and Anduril rests in his hands. I shall watch him while you sleep. Just try not to snore, Gimli!'  
  
  
  
I wrote this because in the book, after Gandalf fall there is no real mention of the others grieving for him, which I think Aragorn, at least would have done, as they were such good friends. I know Aragorn probably wouldn't have been this down, but when I wrote it, I was. Let me know what you think, and I'll have chapter 2 up soon, which is about how Aragorn feels about Gandalf's return. 


	2. The meeting

Reunion Chapter 2  
By Rose G  
  
Disclaimer - I don't own these characters, and anyone who thinks I'm making money out of this lark ought to look at my savings. And this chapter is dedicated to Mr. J.   
  
A/N - This takes place the morning after they meet Eomer, same as in the books. They stop for a rest, and Gimli sees the white figure. More suicide in this than normal. One day, I really am going to write as nice fic, in which no one gets hurt or killed or upset. Promise.   
  
  
  
  
Aragorn shifted uncomfortably, aware of Legolas' keen gaze upon him, although the Elf remained hidden from view even in the light of day. From his earliest days, the sensation of being watched had alarmed him, even when the watcher was someone he knew and trusted, and he could not bear to have even Arwen watch him while he tried to sleep. It always seemed to be an invasion of his privacy - the fact that someone could see the emotions that he tried so hard to hide without him being aware of it.  
  
`Legolas Greenleaf!' Aragorn's voice was harsh, almost Orc-like.  
  
Startled, Legolas lept down from the rock slab he was resting on, like a wild horse that races sure footed through the mountains and fields of Rohan. On silent feet, the tall Elf crossed the glade to where the Ranger lay, Anduril still clasped in his hand.  
  
`May I have no rest, Legolas? Must you always dog my footsteps, like a young colt at its mother's flanks? All I have asked from you is that you leave me in peace, to suffer my grief alone.' He spoke so bleakly that Legolas shivered.  
  
`I am sorry, Aragorn. Please believe me, I was only concerned with your well being. Gimli bade me to watch you. I did not mean to intrude.' He bowed his head slightly, his fair hair falling over his face hiding troubled blue eyes.   
  
The Ranger drew one hand over his worn face, feeling his eyes sting with tears that Legolas must never see. `Please, Legolas, go and eat or rest, leave me to take this watch.'  
  
Legolas nodded, then rested his hand lightly on Aragorn's shoulder in an effort to comfort this man he respected so much, both as a leader and a friend. Aragorn shuddered and moved away from the touch, unable to accept the reassurance. Sighing, the Elf walked over to Gimli, listening to Aragorn's harsh breathing, which echoed in the silence of the forest.  
  
Again, the Ranger run his fingers down Anduril's blade, tracing the design of the rayed sun and crescent moon. He felt the skin and flesh part, cold blood springing from the veins. The pain made him gasp, yet it was also a relief, a bittersweet pleasure because for the first time in several days, his grief was no longer the only burden on his mind. He pulled the blade down the cut again; smiling grimly as the blood spurted for a second time.  
  
He raised his bloodied hand suddenly to his face, covering his dark grey eyes so that his tears fell mixed with blood and hidden from the others. He grasped Anduril, resting the point on his heaving chest, between his ribs as his heart beat wildly. How long he sat there, listening to the wind whistling, he did not know. And when the blade actually touched his skin, bringing drops of blood beading down the steel edge, a confused jumble of images filled his mind.  
  
There was Halbarad, his familiar face alight with a mocking grin as he looked at his oldest friend as they rode alongside each other at a gallop through Bree. Arwen's hair gleamed as they kissed for the first time under a starry sky in Rivendell. Gandalf watched one of his one of his fireworks explode, smiling at Aragorn's gasp of wonder. Surprised, he let Anduril fall to the rocky ground with a clatter.   
  
'Aragorn!' It was Gimli's harsh voice that travelled over to him. 'Look!'   
  
He was startled, almost out of his depression as his responsibilities as leader of the small company that now remained came again into his troubled mind. He rose inelegantly, in a hurry, racing to stand beside Legolas and Gimli. The thought occurred to him that if it was Saraman, his own death would be hardly unwelcome and even if it was anyone else, never would they see him cast upon the rocky ground in a pool of his own blood.  
  
Yet as the bent, shining white figure moved towards them and began to speak, Aragorn kept silent. He could not trust himself to speak, but nor was he going to allow his friends to face this alone and unaided while he still stood. His loyalty was to them, not himself, and it was that quality that made him the leader he was.   
  
Even so, he watched the other man closely, a strange expression, half loathing and half desperate longing in his eyes, a look that puzzled both Legolas and Gimli. And a few minutes later, when the figure had said `You may still call me Gandalf' the Man stumbled away from the meeting, his head held low. Eventually, Gandalf bade the Elf and the Dwarf to stay where they were for the time being and made his way over to Aragorn.  
  
The Ranger lay sprawled on the rough turf, his face pressed into the earth. His lithe body shook with convulsive, choking sobs. 'Saraman, leave us in peace. Kill me if it pleases you - my death does not worry me; indeed I crave it. But do not play with me, delude me into believing my wish has become reality, I beg you.'  
  
`Aragorn, although I am the White, maybe even Saraman as he should have been, I am still Gandalf the Grey, your friend and companion, at heart and I swear to you, King Elessar of Gondor, that I mean you no harm. And if you wish, I shall lead this company again, for you have tired of doing so.'  
  
'I wish to believe you, yet what proof do you have? Too many times have my hopes been dashed and my dreams lost for me to take you on word alone.' There was a catch in Aragorn's voice now, as the Ranger battled to hold back his emotions.  
  
'Only this, Son of Arathorn, that if I were Saraman, you would now be beyond the far circles of this world. But Aragorn, look at me, and say if you doubt my word.'  
  
As though compelled by something outside his control, Aragorn rose slowly and looked at the figure robed in shining white. The face was familiar; the dark eyes burning with good humour and courage, and joy rose in Aragorn's heart.  
  
'Gandalf!' The exclamation burst from him, and he took a tentative step forward, reaching one trembling, bloodied hand out to Gandalf in greeting. The wizard took it, noticing how Aragorn flinched from the touch.  
  
'It is all right, Aragorn. I am as real and alive as you or Legolas, or your friend Hasufel who grazes now behind that hill, ready to carry you to the Halls of Theoden King. You need not fear my touch for I am still flesh and blood, not shadows and wraiths. Nor need you have grieved for me, for I have experienced death itself, and it is not to be feared, Aragorn and I counsel you to remember that when you are called to tread the misty paths. You need not fear death, Aragorn but you must not attempt to bring it upon yourself as you tried to do earlier, for some reason I could not understand.'  
  
For the first time in days, the ghost of a smile touched Aragorn's face. `I missed you, Gandalf and I am not ashamed to say that for many long days I have been desperately afraid, both for my companions and myself. And for a while I did not feel that my life was worth the living. How glad I am to see you, to lose the burden of leadership.' He stood silently alongside his friend, looking down at his companions.  
  
'And by the Valar, I am glad to see you, most trustworthy of Rangers, for my friends in the strangeness were few. And do not let us be parted until the sea comes between us, Aragorn.' Gandalf said in an undertone, and Aragorn's thoughts once again turned to his love in Rivendell as fear and grief left him.  
  
  
  
  
  
Let me know what you think about this, everyone. Reviews criticism etc welcome. 


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